punchlines

When I first read about it – how losing weight so quickly will make you super crazy ("It's like you have PMS all the time!" they said, all the post-surgery patients who had been going through it for weeks and months and almost a year) it should have been one of those things that gave me pause. Major pause. Hormones, stored in fat, being dumped into your bloodstream by the cartload. And I have never been a girl who deals well with hormones. Super, major, extra pause.

Instead, I was consumed by debating the ethics of weight loss surgery with myself, giving up versus giving in versus giving out versus but it's hard versus but I have to versus what the fuck am I doing versus what the fuck will I do if I don't – the whole messy ordeal. I read everything I could get my hands on, written by post-ops, who could tell me everything that could happen and when and why and how, and some of it seemed very important and some of it, quite frankly, I shrugged off.

I don't even know why I shrugged it off – hubris, I guess. So many people having problems with the disgusting taste of protein shakes, but I would be different, because geeze, people – they're not that bad. Except, as it turns out, they made me want to die rather than drink them, in the early days. Take as much time off as you can? I don't need that much time off! Everything will taste different? Oh, come on! How can my tastes change. Except – well you probably know the punchlines already. You are smart, and very pretty.

And the next punchline, you know that too, for the way that I thought the whole PMS thing couldn't possibly be as bad as they said it was.

Except that it's not, and it is making me mad, because I want to blame everything on it.

It is probably true that I can blame some things on my surgery – I have, since the first day, been startled by a feeling of complete vulnerability. It is hard to be alone, anymore, without feeling like something terrible is going to happen, and there will be nothing to stop it. This I will blame on my surgery – I am an emotional person, but now I am Super Emotional Girl, and I need a cape. On which I will blow my nose as I bawl.

It is hard to be alone, anymore, without feeling intensely, painfully, outrageously alone and lonely. Except I can't bear the thought of seeing anyone, because they don't love me and never did and anyway they shouldn't because I am awful and ridiculous and mostly I don't even understand the things that are coming out of my mouth, either, so I don't expect you to, though it's probably just hormones, making me stupid, and forgetful, and crazy and weird. But maybe I am just stupid and forgetful and crazy and weird. Or maybe the hormones make me think that I am stupid and forgetful and crazy and weird. Or maybe I just really wish I could drink a bottle of wine and have a cake. I don't know.

What makes it worse is that I am avoiding people because I am tired and possibly or not stupid and crazy and forgetful and weird, which puts me out of practice with the social graces. Except, that's funny – I have never been socially graceful, as it turns out. So that's something else I can't blame on my surgery.

But I want to, because that means this is all going to go away, eventually. I bet everything is going to go away, and then everything will be wonderfullest. I will be the happiest and the prettiest and the sun will shine and my skin will clear up and my taxes will be done and I will believe I can fly. I will believe that I can touch the sky. I WILL THINK ABOUT IT EVERY NIGHT AND DAY. I WILL SPREAD MY WINGS AND FLY AWAY. WITH CAKE.

I'm not post-op, but I've gone through the same thing throughout the last year with my weight loss. I thought I was just crazy until my friend, who is post-op, told me she went through the same thing and that it was normal. She assures me it will pass, and it has evened out somewhat, but I still get my feelings hurt over dumb shit like, oh, maybe the sky is blue today!

Wait until it's stuff like boys drooling and pawing (literally, really) that you always thought were just your best friends and you push them off in horror because you weren't prepared but you're also seething with anger because you really liked them and they NEVER had the nerve to approach you "romantically" before ... and they sulk because you pushed them off in horror and then you're REALLY mad because what you thought would have been a reasonable reaction to such drool-and-paw treatment would be to kick them in the stones and run away ...

(Obviously, it's something I'm still struggling with.)

I really think that one of the reasons people ('specially us women) regain weight is that NO THERAPIST warns us that it's coming and NO THERAPIST teaches us to deal with it effectively.

Anyone want to join me for a mass march and demand on the so-called mental health profession?

Anne, it's really good to have you back posting. It's sanity in the midst of the true madness that is our current world. Oh, and ...

"I am an emotional person, but now I am Super Emotional Girl, and I need a cape. On which I will blow my nose as I bawl.

*falls over laughing*

Although any Incredibles fan knows Edna Mode says "no capes!", someone still needs to reach out to Stan Lee immediately.

It's kind of like smoking cigarettes. There is a separate reason for each cigarette you smoke. You smoke some because you are bored. You smoke some because you are anxious or loney. You smoke some to celebrate. You need to address those emotional needs in some other healthy way when you quit smoking, or you end up smoking again.

Having surgery to make you less hungry didn't address the emotional triggers for eating too much.

Oy, have a kleenex, tsatskeleh. I go through flashes of this stuff all of the time, 4 mos out. Fortunately, I work at home by myself most of the time and I don't have to share it with anybody. But, boy do I get short tempered sometimes. It will pass though. Or I'll be doing 20+ in the big house. Stop by the blog sometime - http://lessflabmorefab.blogspot.com

Oh, God bless you for making me laugh and snort out loud. I've had a shitty (and hormonal kind of day for no reason godammit GIVE ME CAKE, TOO) day, and reading this was just the medicine I needed. Thanks. It's good to have you back.transonafive.blogspot.com

Ohhhhhhh boy. Well... I haven't had YOUR surgery. But I sure do remember feeling these thoughts right after I had my hysterectomy! I think it's the hormones! Yep... I definitely think it's the hormones. I hope it's the hormones.... I never knew about fat "storing" hormones... maybe that's why I still have hot flashes even though I've had no ovaries for over 3 years? Hmmmm.... I need to research this! I sure hope this takes a turn for you ... SOON!

Fat cells also produce estrogen, and a few other things, so loosing fat might make your body feel like it's got a defecit of estrogen, which is exactly what causes PMS.

Nifty.

Anne, you are fabulous. I have also recently been Super Emotional Girl. I had facial surgery for skin cancer last year and have similar feelings of fragility. I think any kind of surgery puts your body into trauma mode.

you are a lovely human going through a traumatic, dramatic BIG physical and physiological event - your body and spirit are bound to be overwhelmed. you also don't have the usual crutches we all use to get us through life. when i quit smoking a few years ago (a casual/light but regular habit), i thought i was going crazy. i couldn't cope with the world, with anything. i wanted to isolate myself because i couldn't handle being with people but i was lonely and hungry for support. it was a lonesome time. anytime we give up one of the many things that help us cope, in their weird way, we suffer....now i am addicted to chewing gum and diet coke (one a day, but still!). i need something to stuff my emotions into instead of just sitting still and feeling!hang in there. you are SO not alone...

Okay, I have no right to post this because a) it's not really connected except coincidentally and b) it's not nearly as traumatic as surgery and c) I admire your blog to death and this will horrify you with its weirdness and self-indulgence, but in the spirit of the anonymous blog fostering truh, what the hell. My good old cat of seventeen years just died (having spanned grad school, the end of adolescence, the adjunct years, the marriage to date, and the tenure-track hire) and I'm feeling most of what you describe (plus having some wine and cake, and if it's any comfort to you, which I hope it is, the wine and cake are helping one damn bit. Maybe a ham?)

Actually, my cat did not just die; I killed him (not personally, but I stood there while the vet did what I asked), because he was dying slowly and wasn't getting better. It was totally the right thing to do (like your surgery, I think, though the resemblances end there), and I thought I was fine with it, but, damn it, I'm not. I thrive on solitude, but I feel lonely. I did the right thing, but I feel guilty and miserable. I didn't love him enough, but I miss the hell out of him now he's gone. I don't believe in ghosts, but I keep hearing his claws ticking on the floors. I know this is absolutely, totally minor compared to any news-story misery anyone cares to name, and I feel doubly anxious and guilty because I'm feeling so bad about this one little thing, which was (did I mention?) the right thing to do.

Moral of the story, which I am confident you deduced long ago in all its not-so-profundity: we're often not fine with what we thought we're fine with. Even when it's the right thing and we will be fine with it someday, maybe even within a year, we're not fine with it now. Or we're fine with the part of it we anticipated only to be gobsmacked by the other stuff that anybody could've seen coming except us. Which I guess is, you know, okay. But not fine.

Oh, Cat. {{Hugs}} Trauma in the rest of the world doesn't invalidate the fact that you just lost a beloved friend.

You didn't kill him. You gave him the last kindness you could, a swift and pain-free death with dignity. He knows you loved him. And yes, he's probably leaving a little slowly, because you're so torn up about your loss.

"I know this is absolutely, totally minor compared to any news-story misery anyone cares to name, and I feel doubly anxious and guilty because I'm feeling so bad about this one little thing ..."

Never invalidate what you feel by comparisons like that! There's always something horrible going on in the world; all you do is make yourself feel worse by thinking like that. He was a part of your life for longer than a lot of marriages last. You loved him, and you hurt. Don't berate yourself for hurting! Real friendship is not a "little thing," regardless of whether or not the friend is furred.

I have been through it myself, too often. The only way to bear it is to remember that it really is the last loving act we can perform for our animal friends.

Just because it's right, doesn't mean it's easy. Just because it's right doesn't mean it doesn't hurt.

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One of those weight loss blogs, except for how I hate the word "blog" and this isn't so much about losing weight as not wanting to diet, being thirty-something, and just trying to get it - where "it" is read as "everything" - right. Now, getting it right means dealing with the aftermath of weight loss surgery - all the scary, all the wonderful, all the frustrating.